Writing Game Piece, Round 2 - Seeing Red, Part 1
Summary: Private detective Ichigo Kurosaki takes on a case for a gorgeous redhead to find a missing girl last seen working for a shady company...
A/N: In the spring, babyluw and I kicked off the second round of the Writing Game, where we all began RenIchi pieces and then passed them along to each other to finish. This time we had six writers participating at one point or another, and for this piece in particular, the writer order was me, spikykun, babyluw, captain_doxa, and pb_cookie.
Some of the five other pieces that we wrote have been posted; you can find them here:
Solitary Confinement (in pb_cookie's journal)
Figuring It Out, Part 1 and Part 2 (in Babyluw's journal)
When It Counts, Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 (in Spikykun's journal)
I'll continue to update with links here as soon as the rest of them are up.
I know for sure now that my beta reader gwoman is a superhero because she finished this monstrous piece way earlier than she initially thought she would!
Warnings: Copious amounts of smoking, bad language, dirty thoughts, character death, masturbation, tattooing, explicit good sex (yaoi)
Usual disclaimers: I don't own these characters and don't make any money for these writings; I'm just creating these stories to entertain myself and (hopefully) you.
Oh, yes, one more thing. All of the people depicted in sexual situations my stories are intended to be and considered to be by the author of the legal age of consent in any jurisdiction, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from. OK?
_________________________________________________________________
The name is Kurosaki. Ichigo Kurosaki, and I'm leaning against the windowsill, trying to get the smoke from my cigarette to go out the window instead of just hang in the air on this fucking hot, still summery evening, and wondering how the hell I got so lucky as to have a gorgeous, tall drink of water like that redhead lying in my bed. I can't help running my eyes over those amazing tattoos, sharp and defined in the moonlight, and that impossibly red hair, and fuck if I'm not getting hard all over again. Right now the sheets have been mostly kicked off, and I find myself watching closely, thinking that if he only shifts a little more in his sleep-
What, you got thrown off by the pronoun? Are you the only people in town that don't know I'm gay?
...OK, so maybe that was a little harsh, but now I'm realizing that if I want to have an audience that actually follows the story I'm telling, I'm going to need to go back a bit.
So, I was born about twenty five years ago...OK, maybe not quite that far back.
In a way, though, this story started around the time I was nine. I’d been just a kid like any other up until that time, playing with my friends, going to school, all of that crap. But one day, my mom came home from work early. She said she wasn't feeling well and I watched her clutching the banister as she climbed the stairs to lie down. I remember thinking that it looked like her legs were barely holding her up. It was a few hours later when dad was able to come over from the clinic to see to her when the ambulance was called.
And then, a few weeks later, she died. Karin, Yuzu, and I had been allowed to visit her once in the hospital, and the girls had started crying as soon as they’d seen how weak she was. I’d tried my best to shush them up, but mom had just reached out to put a hand on my arm.
“It's all right, Ichigo,” she'd said, smiling a wan smile. “Let's just enjoy the time we have together.”
It had been the last time I’d seen her alive.
The things I hadn't known then were that, although dad had graduated from medical school near the top of his class, he’d had a lot of school debt he’d needed to pay off, and that problem had been made worse due to the loan he’d taken out to pick up a lucrative clinic practice from an old friend of his family's. So, to help in paying the debt off, my mom had decided that she should work as well.
She’d ended up getting a job where a few of her friends from the neighborhood had worked, painting car doors on an assembly line. The five of them had gone back and forth to work together every day, and I remember mom being very happy and proud of her work. Then there had been that day she came home with splotches of silver paint on her hands and arms. Mom had told us that one of the new barrels of paint that had come in had been offloaded wrong and she and her friends had been told to clean it up. They'd been unable to get the paint off once they were finished, though, and she’d just joked that it would have to wear off.
Well, it had after several days and a few hours of scrubbing over a number of days on my mother's part. The following week was the one when she came home from work early.
None of us took her death well, since my mother had really been the center of the family up until that time. My father did his best to put on a goofy face and take care of all of us, but I found out gradually over the years what he did in response to my mother's death. Research had never been his specialty, but he managed to find out that the new paint my mother had talked about was something that had been designed to create a strong bond as it was put on, which is why my mother had had such trouble getting it off. Also he found out that whatever chemicals they'd used in the paint were toxic enough that my mother and her co-workers should have had chemical gloves, and probably suits, to clean it up. There had been specific warnings on the paint labeling about avoiding contact with the skin at all costs.
Apparently, whatever had specially bonded the paint to my mother's skin had allowed the toxins in it to quickly soak into her body and interact with her cells. Cancer isn't supposed to be able to grow and spread that fast, but the bond is what had accelerated it and allowed it to happen. Of course, my father presented his findings to the company that had employed her (OK, so I'm not going to mention which one because they're huge and they're still in business, something that makes me furious), and they turned him away, saying there was a lack of proof of what he’d been claiming, and that there was no certainty that what had happened to her was a result of her work. And they're still saying the same thing, even though two other women she’d cleaned up that fucking paint with died not long after she did and the other two who helped eventually had to quit because their health had gotten so bad that they couldn't work anymore.
Of course, since I'm the sort of person who obsesses over things (OK, so I'm old enough to admit that now), I wasn't ever able to let the idea go. I just kept turning it over and over in my mind like a grain of sand stuck in an oyster, but I was lucky enough to eventually turn it into something I could act on.
One of the things that bothered me over the years as I thought about what happened to my mother was the fact that no one ever investigated this sort of crime. I mean, you'd hear stories sometimes about someone's relative or parent who'd been killed or maimed in some sort of accident at work, and a lot of the time the corporation that was responsible for the situation had tried very hard never to take any responsibility or to compensate remaining family members in any way. Often they had tried to blame the victim or, like they had with my mother, claim that what happened to her had nothing to do with her work. I always tended to pay attention whenever I heard things like that, because even though Karakura, where my family lives, has always been mostly white-collar work, the city neighboring ours, Rukongai, is along the water and has lots of factory, construction, and shipping work. As a result, about half the kids in my school had one or both parents who had jobs in the next town.
My father had been pissed at first when I’d gotten a two year college degree, but that was all that was required to be able to go for my investigator's license. Everyone I knew at the time thought I was crazy when I set up my own business right away, but I knew what I needed to do and I'd done enough research to know there was no one who could have taught me to do it. So, I rented an office in Rukongai (luckily, one that had an apartment overhead so I didn't have to shell out twice for space) and tried to make sure the word got around that I specialized in investigating corporate wrongdoing and holding companies accountable. I had to do a bit of crap work in the beginning to pay the bills (like following around suspect spouses and taking pictures), but it was in the first month that I’d opened when my first client of interest showed up.
Her husband had gone missing. He'd gone off to work one day and never come back home. She had two small children and a job that barely paid the rent and had been about to go out of her mind by the time she came to see me, three days after he'd disappeared. The police had told her that he'd probably run off with another woman and didn’t seem too anxious to do anything but the bare minimum to find him, but she just kept saying she knew him, that he would have at least told her if he wanted to leave, that he hadn't even taken any clothes or anything else he owned. I told her I'd take the case and that she could pay me out of any settlement I was able to get for her if he'd come to harm at work as she suspected.
It took me a few days to figure out and confirm what had happened. I took a day to scope out the work site she’d told me he'd been working at with a road construction crew that was building a bridge. The next day I bribed a guy who had a lunch truck to take me out to the site with him around lunchtime. While he sold crappy food to the crew, I talked to them to try to find out if any of them had an idea about what had happened to the woman's husband. Finally, one of the older guys who had this weird look in his eye nodded his head in the direction of this concrete bridge pillar that still had plywood on the sides.
“We're going to take the form off of that one tomorrow,” he told me. “You might want to look for him over there.”
So, fortunately, the scaffolding was still up around the pillar when I went out to the site the next day, and the work was going on in a different area of the site, so no one seemed to notice me dressed in a hard hat and climbing up to look for what I could find. It took me about an hour to find what I was looking for, and a second hour to chip the evidence out of the concrete. Since the man's dentist was able to verify his dental imprints, I was able to get the widow her settlement from the construction company.
After that, I didn't need to advertise; people just knew. I won settlements for a number of accident victims or surviving family members, and I even did work for some unions that were trying to protect their members. Not that I didn't have to take the occasional spouse-trailing job to keep paying the bills, but I'd begun doing the kind of work that I wanted to, the kind no one else was taking care of. Hell, I even had clippings for some ongoing class-action suits brought against companies by their injured workers that I'd managed to start the ball rolling on.
OK, so to finally relate all of this to the day everything started with the tall redhead, I was working in my crappy office late one morning. In other parts of town and almost certainly in Karakura, you could tell that spring had arrived a while ago and was slowly turning to summer. I saw the cherry trees finally shedding some of the last of their blossoms, and some of the late blooming shrubs were now full of flowers. On this side of town, however, the only reminder I had of spring was the slightly pleasant scent in the air drifting in the window I'd opened to let some of the cigarette smoke out. Unfortunately, I had to close it not long afterwards when a dump truck with a load of fill dirt for the construction site next door stopped to idle right next to my office.
I was working on my billing that morning. Although I certainly appreciate the money, I hate having to do it because it bores the hell out of me. So, by the time I saw the figure through the pebbled glass of the office door, it was more than a little polluted in there because I'd been practically chain smoking due to the boredom.
I hurried to open the window again as someone came through the door. By the time I turned back around, I was glad that I had to sit back down at my desk before I'd be expected to say anything. Mostly because the redhead I was telling you about earlier just came into my office for the first time, and practically drooling at a potential client is usually considered rude.
“Hi. Can I help you?” I said once I was able to get words out again. Not the best opening I'd ever come up with, but at least it was in a human language.
I used the pause between what I'd said and the redhead's response to study him further as he sat in one of my client chairs. He was tall and lean but definitely had some muscle on him, and the short-sleeved black t-shirt he wore showed off some of the tattoos on his upper arms. I realized as he turned to face me and his long hair slid to one side that he was tattooed on his face and neck as well. The broken-in, low-riding blue jeans and black boots seemed to complete the picture, and I suddenly had to keep iron control on my thoughts to stop myself from mentally undressing the man in the chair in front of me or speculating where there might be additional tattoos.
The fucking tattoos...I might as well admit right now what a freak I am about tattoos. I'd probably have my entire body covered with them by now if I didn't realize that it would make my work almost impossible (as if my orange hair wasn't distinctive enough), so I tend to get overly interested in other people's ink.
So of course I couldn't help but watch as one tattooed eyebrow rose when the redhead looked around my office. “Was there a fire in here?” he asked, the look on his face vaguely amused as he fixed me with deep reddish eyes.
Of course, an annoyed reply was on the tip of my tongue, but I shut my mouth as I tried to temper the glare I was giving him. “Sorry, I thought it was better than diesel fumes,” I said instead, reminding myself that it's usually best not to piss the clients off before you sign an agreement with them. Plenty of time for that afterwards. “So, is there a problem I can help you with, Red?”
Mentally I cursed my quick tongue. Must not give the clients nicknames when annoyed, I reminded myself, but he seemed amused, if anything.
“Che, like you're one to talk,” he responded, looking at my spiky hair with a lopsided smile that made my stomach flip over. The smile disappeared quickly as he looked directly at me, though, seeming to give me a close inspection for the first time. “Aren't you a little young for this kind of work?”
Now it was my turn to feel amused, and to feel a little relief as we stumbled onto territory I was familiar with. “Well, I'm not as young as I look, and I've been in this business over five years now. I know there are lots of other investigators in the area, some with way more experience than me and even a few that I could recommend to you. But, I'm the only one I know of who specializes in what I do. I could give you the names of some former clients willing to vouch for me, but I figure that's probably the reason you're here anyway, that you talked to someone I've helped in the past.”
The redhead nodded once. “Yeah, I heard about you from a couple of people. They said you're actually willing to take on some of these big companies,” he finished, looking at me a little skeptically.
“Yeah, that's what I do,” I said. For all the good it does most of the time the cynical voice in the back of my head chimed in, but I shut it up quickly. “Was it something along those lines you needed help with?”
He gave a long sigh then, raked a hand back through his hair, and re-settled his sunglasses over his forehead. I tried to pay polite attention instead of becoming fixated on watching that large hand as it made its way back to his thigh. He wasn't focused on me just then, though, and I finally saw the concern that I hadn't realized was in the background of his expression make its way to the front. Once he was looking back up at me, he started talking.
“Fuck. I might as well tell you about it because it doesn't seem like there's anyone else I can tell. Either they don't want to hear about it or they definitely want me to shut the fuck up about it.”
I slid the drawer at my right open and grabbed a pencil and pad of paper. “OK, why don't you start at the beginning? What happened?”
“Well,” the redhead started, “my sister, Rukia, has disappeared.” He shook his head then, as if something wasn't quite right and then continued. “Actually, she's not legally my sister or anything, which may be why I'm having so many problems with this. We lived in the same foster home for a few years when we were kids and never lost touch afterwards, so when we were old enough we got a place together and we've lived together ever since. We'd always, you know, keep an eye out for each other and stuff.”
He stopped then and stared down at his hands for a few seconds, obviously remembering something. I waited for a bit, then to get him going again quietly said, “I've been over here making some notes for a little while now and I realize I've forgotten to ask your name.”
I continued to watch him, hoping my question would break him out of his thoughts, and was happy when it seemed to have worked. He straightened up and took a breath, then looked me in the eye. “Renji Abarai,” he said, and then grinned. “Are you sure you're a private eye? How could you forget something like that?”
Rolling my eyes, I couldn't help grinning back. “Yeah, yeah,” I replied, willing to take a little ribbing if I could get him to keep talking. “So, how long has Rukia been gone? Did you call the police into it?”
He began to look angry then. “She's been gone about a week, and the fucking police have been no good at all. I called them the day she didn't come home from work and they told me she needed to be gone for 24 hours before they could do anything. Then, when I go back to them 24 hours later they fuck around for a couple days and then come back and tell me she's not missing.”
I gave him an odd look. “They said she wasn't missing?” I'd seen lots of mishandled missing person cases, but this was the first time I'd heard the police claim that someone who'd disappeared wasn't missing at all.
“Yeah, and when I started to get upset about it, telling them that she hadn't been home and she didn't take anything other than her purse and her lunch with her when she went to work that day, they kept insisting that she wasn't missing and that if I didn't stop making a scene they'd lock me up.” Renji had a bitter, angry expression on his face at that point, and I couldn't say I blamed him.
“I've never heard of a missing person case handled like that, Mr. Abarai. I'm sorry to hear that happened,” I responded.
He fixed me with a suspicious look for a moment, then, as if satisfied with what he'd seen in my eyes, he barked out a harsh laugh. “Just call me Renji. And, fuck, I'm glad to hear that I'm not the only one who thought the whole thing was weird. I did manage to overhear something as I was leaving, though. It was only part of what one of the cops was saying to another, but I thought I heard him say he'd talked to her at work.”
I raised an eyebrow as I looked up at him. “Where does she work?” I asked.
“She’s been working in downtown Karakura at Kuchiki Industries headquarters as the receptionist,” Renji answered, then looked intensely at me again as he continued. “So I went to see if she was actually there. I met her a couple of times there to go out to lunch, so I’d seen where she worked.”
“Do you work in the area?” I asked as he paused.
He shook his head in response. “Nah. Shuu, a good friend of mine, and I run a tattoo place here in Rukongai. The work is mostly afternoons and evenings, though, so I went out to see Rukia a couple of times when I was working evenings.
“Anyway,” Renji continued, “she’d been working at the main desk behind the front doors as you come into the building, so it was visible from the street. Well, Rukia wasn't there when I got there - it was some older lady. I figured I'd wait to see if she was on break or something, but I'd only been sitting on a bench across the street for a few minutes when these rent-a-cops came out of the building and straight over to me. It was fucking weird. It was like they'd been waiting for me or something. So they got all serious and told me to basically get the fuck out of there. When I reminded them that I was on a public street minding my own business, they threatened to call the police and get me arrested for loitering. I argued with them for a while, but finally ended up leaving. Rukia never showed up the whole time I was there, either. That was yesterday,” Renji concluded with a sigh as he looked down at his hands again.
I made a few more notes before I met his eyes again. Mentally I sighed as I watched my pencil write Kuchiki Industries. They were a huge multi-national corporation that did business in many different sectors - manufacturing, pharmaceuticals, high-tech, and a number of other major areas. They were also privately owned, which meant that there was even less scrutiny on them than there would be if they were a publicly-owned company. I had a failed case in relation to the company, as well.
I'd been hired to get evidence of what had happened to a woman who'd worked in one of the Kuchiki pharmaceutical research and development labs. She'd been poisoned one day at work and had come home and related the story to her husband before she'd collapsed. From what he'd told me, it had sounded like a clear case of not following the correct lab safety procedures, but I hadn't been able to get any corroborating evidence. It had taken me days to even locate the lab. Then, I'd been thrown off the grounds by the security guards, who’d seemed to recognize me. When I'd finally been able to tail a couple of the people who'd worked there and had managed to talk to them, they'd seemed terrified once they had realized what I'd wanted and none of them would tell me anything. I'd had to give the case up because I hadn't been able to get anywhere with it. The woman had died in a coma a month later.
“OK,” I said, trying to look more confident than I now felt about the case, “just a couple more things. Do you have photos of her? I'll need any contact information you have, too.”
He nodded and stood to take a folded envelope from his back pocket. When I opened it, I saw a picture of Renji with a short, petite woman. They were sitting somewhere along the water, and she was holding her fingers behind his head to make bunny ears, smiling as if she'd been laughing a moment earlier. She had short dark hair in a cut that curled along her neckline and big eyes that looked almost purple. The second picture was just of her, and her expression was somehow sad. I had the odd sensation that I'd seen her somewhere before as I looked at the photos, even though I knew that was unlikely.
“Are these recent?” I asked as I looked back up at the redhead.
“Within the past year or so, I think. The police kept the best pictures I had of her,” he replied with a scowl.
I nodded as I opened the piece of paper that had also been in the envelope. There were home and work addresses on it, as well as a phone number and e-mail address for Rukia and a phone number for Renji.
“Could I get the address of your business, as well?” I asked as I handed the piece of paper back to the redhead. “I need to know how to get in touch with you at all times.”
He scrawled it down, then mentioned as he handed the page back, “That's my cell number, so you should be able to reach me there any time.”
Score. I studied the paper for a moment before asking, “So, you tried calling her, I'm guessing?”
“Yeah. The first couple of days it just went to her voice mail, but now it says the number's disconnected, which is weird because she's always fanatical about paying her bills on time,” Renji replied, shaking his head.
“One more question,” I said before I really thought about it. “Were you two lovers?”
Renji was looking me straight in the eye again, more in shock than anything else. I was cursing my habit of just asking all the questions that occurred to me without mentally filtering them when he raised an eyebrow and snorted a laugh.
“You just go right for it, don't you?” he said, but I could see by the way he was smirking that it didn't seem to bother him. “No, we weren't. Doesn't mean I didn't think about it when we were younger, but...well, I think she was always sort of hoping to snag a rich guy, you know? I don't blame her for it or anything; I mean, you grow up poor and a lot of times you have big dreams for more once you're older. So, the answer is no.”
I took another note down, hoping I wasn't blushing like a kid. I thought I'd lost that habit years ago.
Since he seemed interested, I quickly made up one of my client agreements and printed it out for him. Renji scanned through it, but I could tell when his gaze reached the section that detailed my rates.
“Holy crap,” he said as he fixed me with a surprised look. “For an hourly rate like that, do I get head, too?”
I'm sure my eyebrows almost lifted off my forehead at that comment. “Maybe if you ask nicely,” I responded, unable to help grinning. Maybe he's not as straight as I thought. “I know it's more than a lot of people with my experience would charge, but I charge a bit more because I'm a specialist. You know, like seeing a foot doctor or something.”
He grunted as he finished reading the agreement and then signed it. “I'm not made of money, you know,” Renji replied, still hanging onto the piece of paper.
I sighed. “All right, how about this? I'll meet with you every couple of days to let you know how it's going. I'll let you know what progress I've made and how much it's costing you, and if you think I'm not doing enough you're free to pull the plug at any time. If we ever have any really serious disagreements, like you think I'm just sitting here jerking off when I should be out finding Rukia, we'll talk about it. If we can't resolve it, I'll leave the case alone and refund your retainer.”
I just about bit my tongue as I said the last sentence, because according to the agreement the retainer is mine unless the case takes less than four days to solve (in which case the client gets a partial refund), but I let it stand. Somehow, I just couldn't let him go without trying to land him as a client any way I could. That's because you'd really like him to bend you over the desk-
Mentally throwing the largest rock I could find on my errant thoughts, I focused on the redhead instead. A moment later, I was putting my hand out in surprise as he shoved the signed agreement into it, followed up with the wad of cash that represented my retainer. I quickly stuck it all into my desk drawer, and then shook the hand he was holding out.
“OK, sounds good,” he said with another heart-stopping smile. “You don't need to update the agreement, either. You look like you're as good as your word. Did you want to come by at some point to look at anything of Rukia's? She doesn't have a lot of stuff, but I figured you might want to look around her room to see if there's anything that might help you figure out where she is. Her little computer is there, too.”
“How about if I stop by tomorrow morning? We can talk about anything I've found out and I could look through her things.”
“Cool,” Renji said, and it was only then that he released my hand. I could still feel the tingle in my fingers as he turned to go out the door. “Just don't come by before 11, OK?”
“OK. See you after 11 tomorrow, then,” I responded. Like a complete dork I sat back in my chair a few minutes later to watch as the tall redhead walked away down the street. It made me want to take the binoculars out of the bottom drawer, but somehow I resisted the urge and just watched him until he disappeared.
I looked away and weighed my options for a moment. There was sifting through all I had on Kuchiki Industries, which was the reasonable thing to do, but then there was the more pressing issue; jerking off. Both would have gone embarrassingly fast; the CEO of the corporation ran a squeaky-clean business, and as for the other option, well, who could blame me for getting half-hard just from hearing Renji Abarai speak.
Both plans had flaws, though. I couldn't really investigate with my mind elsewhere, and I'd just told Renji I wouldn't be sitting here jerking off instead of working.
I went for the third option, and pulled out another cigarette. I couldn't help but grunt in satisfaction when I breathed in. Didn't make my dick any softer, but it took enough of the edge off so that I could focus on the case. I kept the cigarette in place with my lips and stood up, reaching for the farthest cabinet.
I nearly sighed in frustration again as I looked at the Kuchiki Industries file. Hints of mysterious deaths, some "alleged" disappearances, rotten business. There was always stuff swept under the carpet in corporations that big, and after five years in this business I usually find the dirt, even if I have to get dirty myself.
This one, though, shit just didn't stick to. That failed case… it wasn't the first, and it probably won't be the last, but that didn't make me feel any less bad. And it's stupid, taking it personally, but if I didn't make taking these assholes down my personal mission, I'd be a lot less successful. With Renji's naked body at stake, I knew I couldn't let this one slip by.
Plan, I thought, determined. I knew I'd probably get the same treatment as Renji if I didn't go about it as smoothly as possible. With such an enterprise, the first thing you've gotta do is learn all you can about the surface-how many buildings, how many employees, how many open eyes, and of course, the people behind the wheel. Byakuya Kuchiki. That asshole was so fast to brush off any mishap that it was like they didn't even exist.
I already had that part down pat after the previous investigation, as well as the inner workings of the corporation. Unfortunately, for Kuchiki Industries, the emphasis had been on "learn all you can"; I tried tailing, bribing, even chatting up male and female employees alike, but mostly I got radio silence. I knew I needed a breach. There had to be a weak spot, right?
I paused when I reached the picture of the headquarters I was interested in. Of course.
I grabbed the cigarette with my fingers and shut my eyes, remembering what Renji had told me. Miss Rukia wasn't at the main desk the day before. In fact, she was replaced by someone new, someone who might have known something, someone who might not have known me. That kind of personnel switch was bound to get noticed by someone.
As it appeared Renji was getting most of the attention of whoever was responsible for the disappearance, I figured it'd be as safe as it could be for me to go in. It was the only lead I had at the time, anyway. I put out my cigarette and grabbed my coat and cell phone. I stuffed the files and the pad of paper in my favorite bag, and headed out.
Staking out Kuchiki Industries was depressingly familiar, so I decided to take a little detour with my car and finally attend to the pressing matter from before. I grabbed another cigarette, cracked open the car window, and finally unzipped my fly.
Oh, don't give me that look; you would have done the same if you'd seen the man lying in my bed right now. Shit, I feel that heat again even now, just standing here and looking at him. He did end up bending me over the desk, didn't he? Then against the fucking window… But that happened much later in the story.
So after I took care of things in my car, I finally drove over to downtown Karakura. I swear you can feel the difference in the air there, like there's class you forgot about while driving past factories and a general mess on the way up there.
I found a convenient spot across the street from the building. Far enough to not get noticed by security guards, not too far so I could still see my target. And there she was, the "older lady," standing at the main desk behind the big glass doors. The place spelled luxury, and that woman fit right in-cute, big blue eyes, blond hair, an impressive cleavage. While I obviously don't go for that, I knew she turned heads. The chances of her knowing someone who knew something grew at once.
I pulled out my pen and paper and scribbled down notes about her appearance, so I'd gather all the information I could before I would start to actually tail her. It was nice and early, so I knew I'd get something done on that day as long as I kept my cool. The "surveillance" began. The sitting and waiting is the worst part, really. She was doing this and that, and I had enough field experience to know what would probably be useless information, yet still I wrote it all down.
I perked in my seat when I saw her say something to the man working beside her and then take her purse. She's leaving, I thought, and paid extra attention. If she was on a break, and went to the same place during each break, I'd surely catch her on one of those times. I started the car and followed her a bit as she walked down the street until she turned and entered a tacky little coffeehouse. I grabbed my binoculars and looked inside. She bought her coffee and sat alone. I watched and waited, timing her stay there.
And oh, was I lucky with that woman. I'd tailed her from the building to the coffeehouse and back again three times in as many hours. She took more breaks than any employee I'd ever needed, and always at the same place. I knew I might get her talking even before meeting Renji tomorrow.
The sun was beginning to set. Since I'd only been watching her for a few hours I didn't know when she got off work, so I decided to risk it and get a head-start on her next break. I parked my car and opened the glove box, fishing through it for my Kuchiki Industries ID card.
I'd already invented my cover from what I knew of the personnel there; I was a young junior employee working in the human resource department. It was pretty solid, and I'd learned how to act the part. The tricky part was my target. For all I knew she could have been the head of the personnel department before becoming the receptionist just a few days ago. If she saw through my bluff there could be hell to pay.
But you know what, I'm not the most cautious PI out there, and in disappearance cases if you don't finish quickly you don't finish at all. So you go with your gut, and that's what I did. I made sure my ID card was visible and put my hat on; otherwise she'd know she hadn't seen me come in or out the building all day. I stepped out of my car and walked to the coffeehouse quickly, but didn't enter it.
I waited around the entrance and then hid behind a group of people when, sure enough, she walked down the street and into the coffeehouse. I only came in once I saw her sit down. I didn't look at her, but walked straight to the bar and ordered a large espresso. I made a show of looking around nervously so she'd know I could use some company, and strained not to smirk when I noticed she already had her eyes on me.
I took my paper cup and turned around, like I was looking for an empty table. Just as I'd confirmed in advance, there were none. I glanced around one more time and then let my eyes settle on her. There was a smile on her ruby red lips, and I figured it was all the invitation I could hope for.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" I asked when I walked over to her.
"Not at all," she said and pushed back the chair next to her with her leg. Step one, complete.
"Thanks," I said and put on my best smile. I sat down and drank some of my coffee. "Muruyama Yoshimi. Nice to meet you."
"So I see," she said, glancing at my ID card. Her voice was causal, rich. She was still smiling at me, and it looked sincere. "I'm Rangiku Matsumoto." She pointed to her own ID card, pinned to her blouse.
"Like the flower," I mumbled, then met her eyes again. "Lovely." Muruyama Yoshimi was a nice guy, friendly and kind, not to mention interested in what other people had to say. It's still hard to pull him off, but I was used to it by that point.
"Thank you." She was batting her eyelashes at me, I swear to god. I thought I had that one in the bag. "You work at Kuchiki Industries, too?" she asked. "I haven't seen you around."
Well, shit. I nodded, messing with my coffee cup and praying she wouldn't know. "New errand boy. I answer calls for Mr. Hanatarou." Her expression didn't change, so I leaned forward, trying to mask my relief with a look of frustration. "To tell you the truth, I can't make heads or tails out of that place. Have you been working there for a long time?"
I looked up expectantly, like I was seeking some comfort, and she was so buying it. She looked sympathetically at me. "Long enough." She cracked a smile and leaned forward. I thought she expected me to glance at her breasts, so I did. That was a quick glance. "But I haven't always been a receptionist."
I raised an eyebrow. This should be good. "Really?"
"Yes, I got promoted only a few days ago." She shrugged, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. "It was kinda sudden."
"Got you a better job, didn't it?" I chuckled, casual. I wet my lips before asking, "Why was it sudden, though?"
She glanced around, and oh, wasn't I lucky to land on the office gossip. I don't believe in that destiny crap, but right then I was thanking the stars. She whispered in a sweet voice, "I had to replace the old receptionist."
Yes. I leaned in, humoring Matsumoto. "What happened to her?"
She grinned, and her voice had a definite cheery lilt when she spoke next. "She moved up the food chain. They said it was a long time coming, but to tell you the truth, she hasn't been working there for that long."
Suspicious promotion, disappearance, quick cover-up. I'd have to ask Renji about that. I made a few other mental notes, to remember everything my cooperative new friend was saying, until she asked me, "What are you thinking about?"
I blinked. Shit. The best way to get out of this one… "Oh, nothing," I smiled at her in a less-than-casual way, hoping that she was into me enough not to mind. "Just nice to know my job's not a dead-end. So what's she doing now?" I tried to sound interested and I knew I was risking it, but once you're on a lucky streak…
"I don't know," Matsumoto said. Damn. Either she'd seen my disappointment or she just wanted to say more, but she added, "They wouldn't say."
Hush-hush? I just got evidence of something fishy on a silver platter. From a receptionist, the one person who could get me inside. There's your breach, I thought, and could have kissed her.
Before I got the chance to do anything, she broke off the eye contact and lifted her coffee cup to her lips.
"Oh my, my break's been over for five minutes!" she suddenly cried, looking at her phone. She got to her feet. "I'd better run if I wanna get some coffee for my boss, too. You wouldn't want to upset Mr. Hitsugaya more than usual."
I gave her my best knowing laugh and got up as well, turning around to get my coat. I was startled to feel her hand on my shoulder a moment later. She was definitely standing closer then. "Give me a call if you want to talk some more, all right?"
And while her words made me one of the happiest men alive, the wink she gave me after speaking nearly had me running the other way. Nearly, because I'm such a professional. Instead, I smiled and nodded. "All right."
She left without asking me whether I was coming as well, so instead of thinking up an excuse I went straight to my car, and I swear, I could have jerked off again.
Yeah, so what if I like good news more than most people. Things don't go my way very often; it's nice when they do, and it's even nicer when I get to deliver them to hot guys like Renji. Made me feel all accomplished, not to mention fucking fortunate, like there was some gay god lighting my way or something.
That lucky streak seemed to continue until my meeting with Renji the day after.
I drove up and parked outside the building that Renji and Rukia's shared apartment was in. Checking my watch as I stepped out of the car, I had a feeling that I was a bit early, and I was, by thirty minutes. Hopefully Renji wouldn't mind. Hopefully he's just come out of the shower. Fuck, Ichigo, I mentally berated myself, you're here to do your job, and you have to look like a professional in front of this guy, otherwise he'll call it off.
I knocked on the green door and when he opened it, he wasn't newly showered. He was newly out of bed. And I could feel myself hardening at the sight of him. Low riding sweatpants, and that's it.
There were tattoos everywhere. The ones from his neck I had spotted before but now I could also see a tribal chain that went over his chest and covered his shoulders, and the ones that I had seen the ends of the other day took form and made their way down his upper arms.
But what made my lips part and my voice disappear were the tattoos that started under his chest, making their way from his abs and down his torso. Two thin lines disappearing under the waistline. And fuck, he had muscles, too.
“Detective?” he grunted in a raspy voice. And fuck, I had to collect myself all over again. Calm and easy, breathe in, breathe out.
“Yeah. I thought I would check on Rukia's stuff.” That's right, sound like a retard. Just go ahead, do it. “Sorry, I'm a bit early.” I cracked a smile and could feel my ability to think come back to me. He'd just taken me by surprise, that's all.
“It's all cool. Come in, I'll just go and dress-”
“No!”
He turned to look at me with raised eyebrows and I had no fucking idea of what I had just said. “Sorry, I mean, could you just point me in the direction of Rukia's room?”
“Yeah, sure, it's that purple door over there.” He pointed towards something behind me, and I turned to see a purple door with a few bunny stickers on it. How old did he say that Rukia was? “I'll be back in a minute.”
“Yeah, sure.” I had the decency not to scream again. I opened the door and stepped into the half dark room, searching for the light switch.
The room lit up with a pinkish light. Okay, she has a thing for bunnies, that's for sure I thought as I looked around. You really wouldn't think that there was a woman the age of twenty living there; it looked like a fourteen-year-old girl's room. The walls were white and there were purple curtains and a matching cover over the single bed. A single shelf hung on one wall; on it was a collection of stuffed bunnies and some books.
I walked forward to the white desk that was placed in front of the window and pressed the on button on her laptop. I opened the desk drawers as I waited for it to start up.
Some pens, a pile of paper... I sat down on the chair as I searched through the pile, finding some with Kuchiki Industries logos but nothing significant on them until - jackpot - a schedule, still valid from the looks of it. I couldn't help but grin at my success; with this it shouldn't be so hard to sneak around.
“Found something?” I heard from behind me, and I spun the chair around to face Renji, now dressed in skinny jeans and a loose t-shirt.
“A still-active schedule,” I said dumbly and held up the paper as if to prove that I was right.
“Ah.” He nodded and came into the room, and I spun back to face the computer. “The password's Chappy, with a capital C,” he said and I quickly typed it in. The screen turned pink and a picture of cartoon animals having a picnic turned up. I quickly opened the internet to see if there was anything interesting in her history.
“I talked to the new receptionist yesterday, and she said that Rukia had been promoted, but she didn't know to which position. Has she-” There was not much more than YouTube clips in the recent history, so I opened her e-mail instead, hoping that she had auto log in. And, yes, my luck isn't over yet.
“No, she doesn't talk about her job much, not in that way anyhow. All I get to hear about is who hooked up with who, the drunkards, and the man who wears the leo costume.”
“I'm planning to sneak in and act as the new errand boy working under Hanatarou. Would you know any facts that might make it easier for me, you know, to make it more believable?” It seemed that she was a kind of tidy person, from the looks of her e-mail box. There was nothing in it that was over a month old. And most of the emails seemed to be from people inside the industry that I knew nothing about, asking for copies of documents and the like.
Renji leaned over my shoulder and pointed at a name on the screen, 'Momo' Hinamori. “I know that Momo is one of her closest friends over there. She's working as an assistant for Hitsugaya; sometimes she asks Rukia for help and they eat lunch together. Oh, Hitsugaya is some big shot there. I think he's Kuchiki's right hand or something.”
“Yeah, I know who he is. I have most of the big shots down.”
_________________________________________________________________________
It really was my lucky day, I thought as Renji poured some black coffee into a chipped, worn-down ceramic cup. It was obvious that Rukia had been absent from home for some time already; there was a tower of dirty dishes piled up in the sink, and I swear that huge hill of trash by the door was more than impressive in a completely wrong way. I could offer him some help. Show him how good I am with my hands. And not just at using them to take care of trash. God knows it was hard to keep that pain-in-the-ass inner voice down as my eyes wandered around the kitchen.
"It's messy, I know," Renji said in a low voice, and the mildly rough edge it was etched with nearly made me shudder. "I haven't been myself these days; it's hard to keep my mind straight when all I do is worry about her." Really, he looked pretty down. OK, maybe this wasn't a realization of the idea of what a perfectly lucky day with Renji would really look like, but this was what I had to work with. A strange sentiment came over me; besides the unavoidable mental picture of Renji bending me over my massive office desk, there was the thought of comforting him, probably initiated by the gloomy look on his face. Shit, when did I get so cuddly? Though the very thought of the usual area of comfort I specialize in was enough to get my cock stirring. Mind you, I don't get off on seeing someone in pain, but I can't say it's not a good opportunity to get into someone's deliciously tight pants. Repeatedly. I think I need a cigarette.
He put the chipped cup in front of me and I tried to focus on his hands, for once. "It's hard to lose a person you care for, I'm aware of that. You're not the first nor to last to come through my door in an act of desperation." Yeah that’s right Ichigo, make him feel like shit.
“You really know how to hit the mark, don't you?” He took a small sip of coffee, sighed and remained silent for a moment. I supposed there was nothing I could’ve said to make things better, so I said nothing. Comforting people has never been a part of my expertise, as you already know. “But you’re right. I’m desperate and you’re the only one who’ll help me.” He pointed his finger at me and I shifted in my chair uncomfortably. I can’t say that I’m completely objective in handling this case. The thought of my ulterior motive nearly made me smirk (as if this wasn’t the worst moment to smirk...), so I grabbed the cup and took a whiff of coffee to distract myself. It smelled delicious. I slowly brought the cup to my mouth, as if I wanted to devour the moment (in fact, there was something else I wanted to devour), and took a long sip. No sugar, just a bit of milk. Just like I like it. The coffee was so hot it nearly burned my throat, but the sensation of warmth spreading through my limbs was too good to pull the cup away from my mouth. When I finally did and looked up, I noticed Renji was staring right at me. Looks like I distracted him.
“You spilled some,” he said, breaking the silence. Oh, right. That explains the warmth. Good thing the shirt was loose. I don’t need more scars.
“Could you get me a towel, so I can at least dry my t-shirt? There are worse things in the world than wearing a stained shirt, but I’m not fond of wearing damp clothes.”
“Yeah... They cling to your skin too much,” he said, somewhat absent-mindedly. “Wait a second; I’ll get you a towel and a spare shirt. Just remember to return it next time we meet.” It seemed that I had no decision in this matter, so I decided to wait for him to bring the shirt from what was probably his room. It was easy to make a mind-map of this place.
It didn’t take him long. He put both items on the table in front of me. I was still holding the damned cup. “Here you go,” he said. “Most of my clothes should be baggy on you, so I grabbed the tightest one. I hope it’ll fit.”
I put the cup down and grabbed the towel. To hell with decency. I took my stained shirt off in front of an obviously puzzled Renji and wiped the moisture off my stomach. The white shirt he gave me fit almost perfectly and I couldn’t help imagining what it would look like stretched over his muscles. Another cigarette, please.
“You could’ve used the bathroom to change your clothes.”
Or your room. “I’m in a hurry, since I have no time to lose in getting back to your case. We’re both guys, so I figured it wasn’t that much out of your comfort zone. Thanks for the coffee. I gotta go now, but I’ll keep you notified on the progress of the case,“ I said, grabbing my bag and stuffing it with papers and my notebook.
“Oh... OK. I hope I’ll hear from you soon,” Renji said, opening the front door.
Don’t get so pumped, idiot. He wants information, not you. “Don’t worry about that; I’ll keep you posted. Goodbye!”
I nearly ran out of his flat, not looking back and practically jumped into my car. I drove two blocks away, and finally lit that much needed cigarette. The smoke was burning my throat in an exquisitely pleasurable way and I let out a satisfied sigh after the final drag. I need to let off some steam.
Not to mention, this was going to be a hard case. In more ways than one.
Turning my car on, I drove off to my office. I had to get all the information I had sorted out. I’d better buy a pack of smokes. Or two. This is going to be a long night.
_______________________________________________________________________
On to Part 2!
A/N: In the spring, babyluw and I kicked off the second round of the Writing Game, where we all began RenIchi pieces and then passed them along to each other to finish. This time we had six writers participating at one point or another, and for this piece in particular, the writer order was me, spikykun, babyluw, captain_doxa, and pb_cookie.
Some of the five other pieces that we wrote have been posted; you can find them here:
Solitary Confinement (in pb_cookie's journal)
Figuring It Out, Part 1 and Part 2 (in Babyluw's journal)
When It Counts, Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 (in Spikykun's journal)
I'll continue to update with links here as soon as the rest of them are up.
I know for sure now that my beta reader gwoman is a superhero because she finished this monstrous piece way earlier than she initially thought she would!
Warnings: Copious amounts of smoking, bad language, dirty thoughts, character death, masturbation, tattooing, explicit good sex (yaoi)
Usual disclaimers: I don't own these characters and don't make any money for these writings; I'm just creating these stories to entertain myself and (hopefully) you.
Oh, yes, one more thing. All of the people depicted in sexual situations my stories are intended to be and considered to be by the author of the legal age of consent in any jurisdiction, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from. OK?
_________________________________________________________________
The name is Kurosaki. Ichigo Kurosaki, and I'm leaning against the windowsill, trying to get the smoke from my cigarette to go out the window instead of just hang in the air on this fucking hot, still summery evening, and wondering how the hell I got so lucky as to have a gorgeous, tall drink of water like that redhead lying in my bed. I can't help running my eyes over those amazing tattoos, sharp and defined in the moonlight, and that impossibly red hair, and fuck if I'm not getting hard all over again. Right now the sheets have been mostly kicked off, and I find myself watching closely, thinking that if he only shifts a little more in his sleep-
What, you got thrown off by the pronoun? Are you the only people in town that don't know I'm gay?
...OK, so maybe that was a little harsh, but now I'm realizing that if I want to have an audience that actually follows the story I'm telling, I'm going to need to go back a bit.
So, I was born about twenty five years ago...OK, maybe not quite that far back.
In a way, though, this story started around the time I was nine. I’d been just a kid like any other up until that time, playing with my friends, going to school, all of that crap. But one day, my mom came home from work early. She said she wasn't feeling well and I watched her clutching the banister as she climbed the stairs to lie down. I remember thinking that it looked like her legs were barely holding her up. It was a few hours later when dad was able to come over from the clinic to see to her when the ambulance was called.
And then, a few weeks later, she died. Karin, Yuzu, and I had been allowed to visit her once in the hospital, and the girls had started crying as soon as they’d seen how weak she was. I’d tried my best to shush them up, but mom had just reached out to put a hand on my arm.
“It's all right, Ichigo,” she'd said, smiling a wan smile. “Let's just enjoy the time we have together.”
It had been the last time I’d seen her alive.
The things I hadn't known then were that, although dad had graduated from medical school near the top of his class, he’d had a lot of school debt he’d needed to pay off, and that problem had been made worse due to the loan he’d taken out to pick up a lucrative clinic practice from an old friend of his family's. So, to help in paying the debt off, my mom had decided that she should work as well.
She’d ended up getting a job where a few of her friends from the neighborhood had worked, painting car doors on an assembly line. The five of them had gone back and forth to work together every day, and I remember mom being very happy and proud of her work. Then there had been that day she came home with splotches of silver paint on her hands and arms. Mom had told us that one of the new barrels of paint that had come in had been offloaded wrong and she and her friends had been told to clean it up. They'd been unable to get the paint off once they were finished, though, and she’d just joked that it would have to wear off.
Well, it had after several days and a few hours of scrubbing over a number of days on my mother's part. The following week was the one when she came home from work early.
None of us took her death well, since my mother had really been the center of the family up until that time. My father did his best to put on a goofy face and take care of all of us, but I found out gradually over the years what he did in response to my mother's death. Research had never been his specialty, but he managed to find out that the new paint my mother had talked about was something that had been designed to create a strong bond as it was put on, which is why my mother had had such trouble getting it off. Also he found out that whatever chemicals they'd used in the paint were toxic enough that my mother and her co-workers should have had chemical gloves, and probably suits, to clean it up. There had been specific warnings on the paint labeling about avoiding contact with the skin at all costs.
Apparently, whatever had specially bonded the paint to my mother's skin had allowed the toxins in it to quickly soak into her body and interact with her cells. Cancer isn't supposed to be able to grow and spread that fast, but the bond is what had accelerated it and allowed it to happen. Of course, my father presented his findings to the company that had employed her (OK, so I'm not going to mention which one because they're huge and they're still in business, something that makes me furious), and they turned him away, saying there was a lack of proof of what he’d been claiming, and that there was no certainty that what had happened to her was a result of her work. And they're still saying the same thing, even though two other women she’d cleaned up that fucking paint with died not long after she did and the other two who helped eventually had to quit because their health had gotten so bad that they couldn't work anymore.
Of course, since I'm the sort of person who obsesses over things (OK, so I'm old enough to admit that now), I wasn't ever able to let the idea go. I just kept turning it over and over in my mind like a grain of sand stuck in an oyster, but I was lucky enough to eventually turn it into something I could act on.
One of the things that bothered me over the years as I thought about what happened to my mother was the fact that no one ever investigated this sort of crime. I mean, you'd hear stories sometimes about someone's relative or parent who'd been killed or maimed in some sort of accident at work, and a lot of the time the corporation that was responsible for the situation had tried very hard never to take any responsibility or to compensate remaining family members in any way. Often they had tried to blame the victim or, like they had with my mother, claim that what happened to her had nothing to do with her work. I always tended to pay attention whenever I heard things like that, because even though Karakura, where my family lives, has always been mostly white-collar work, the city neighboring ours, Rukongai, is along the water and has lots of factory, construction, and shipping work. As a result, about half the kids in my school had one or both parents who had jobs in the next town.
My father had been pissed at first when I’d gotten a two year college degree, but that was all that was required to be able to go for my investigator's license. Everyone I knew at the time thought I was crazy when I set up my own business right away, but I knew what I needed to do and I'd done enough research to know there was no one who could have taught me to do it. So, I rented an office in Rukongai (luckily, one that had an apartment overhead so I didn't have to shell out twice for space) and tried to make sure the word got around that I specialized in investigating corporate wrongdoing and holding companies accountable. I had to do a bit of crap work in the beginning to pay the bills (like following around suspect spouses and taking pictures), but it was in the first month that I’d opened when my first client of interest showed up.
Her husband had gone missing. He'd gone off to work one day and never come back home. She had two small children and a job that barely paid the rent and had been about to go out of her mind by the time she came to see me, three days after he'd disappeared. The police had told her that he'd probably run off with another woman and didn’t seem too anxious to do anything but the bare minimum to find him, but she just kept saying she knew him, that he would have at least told her if he wanted to leave, that he hadn't even taken any clothes or anything else he owned. I told her I'd take the case and that she could pay me out of any settlement I was able to get for her if he'd come to harm at work as she suspected.
It took me a few days to figure out and confirm what had happened. I took a day to scope out the work site she’d told me he'd been working at with a road construction crew that was building a bridge. The next day I bribed a guy who had a lunch truck to take me out to the site with him around lunchtime. While he sold crappy food to the crew, I talked to them to try to find out if any of them had an idea about what had happened to the woman's husband. Finally, one of the older guys who had this weird look in his eye nodded his head in the direction of this concrete bridge pillar that still had plywood on the sides.
“We're going to take the form off of that one tomorrow,” he told me. “You might want to look for him over there.”
So, fortunately, the scaffolding was still up around the pillar when I went out to the site the next day, and the work was going on in a different area of the site, so no one seemed to notice me dressed in a hard hat and climbing up to look for what I could find. It took me about an hour to find what I was looking for, and a second hour to chip the evidence out of the concrete. Since the man's dentist was able to verify his dental imprints, I was able to get the widow her settlement from the construction company.
After that, I didn't need to advertise; people just knew. I won settlements for a number of accident victims or surviving family members, and I even did work for some unions that were trying to protect their members. Not that I didn't have to take the occasional spouse-trailing job to keep paying the bills, but I'd begun doing the kind of work that I wanted to, the kind no one else was taking care of. Hell, I even had clippings for some ongoing class-action suits brought against companies by their injured workers that I'd managed to start the ball rolling on.
OK, so to finally relate all of this to the day everything started with the tall redhead, I was working in my crappy office late one morning. In other parts of town and almost certainly in Karakura, you could tell that spring had arrived a while ago and was slowly turning to summer. I saw the cherry trees finally shedding some of the last of their blossoms, and some of the late blooming shrubs were now full of flowers. On this side of town, however, the only reminder I had of spring was the slightly pleasant scent in the air drifting in the window I'd opened to let some of the cigarette smoke out. Unfortunately, I had to close it not long afterwards when a dump truck with a load of fill dirt for the construction site next door stopped to idle right next to my office.
I was working on my billing that morning. Although I certainly appreciate the money, I hate having to do it because it bores the hell out of me. So, by the time I saw the figure through the pebbled glass of the office door, it was more than a little polluted in there because I'd been practically chain smoking due to the boredom.
I hurried to open the window again as someone came through the door. By the time I turned back around, I was glad that I had to sit back down at my desk before I'd be expected to say anything. Mostly because the redhead I was telling you about earlier just came into my office for the first time, and practically drooling at a potential client is usually considered rude.
“Hi. Can I help you?” I said once I was able to get words out again. Not the best opening I'd ever come up with, but at least it was in a human language.
I used the pause between what I'd said and the redhead's response to study him further as he sat in one of my client chairs. He was tall and lean but definitely had some muscle on him, and the short-sleeved black t-shirt he wore showed off some of the tattoos on his upper arms. I realized as he turned to face me and his long hair slid to one side that he was tattooed on his face and neck as well. The broken-in, low-riding blue jeans and black boots seemed to complete the picture, and I suddenly had to keep iron control on my thoughts to stop myself from mentally undressing the man in the chair in front of me or speculating where there might be additional tattoos.
The fucking tattoos...I might as well admit right now what a freak I am about tattoos. I'd probably have my entire body covered with them by now if I didn't realize that it would make my work almost impossible (as if my orange hair wasn't distinctive enough), so I tend to get overly interested in other people's ink.
So of course I couldn't help but watch as one tattooed eyebrow rose when the redhead looked around my office. “Was there a fire in here?” he asked, the look on his face vaguely amused as he fixed me with deep reddish eyes.
Of course, an annoyed reply was on the tip of my tongue, but I shut my mouth as I tried to temper the glare I was giving him. “Sorry, I thought it was better than diesel fumes,” I said instead, reminding myself that it's usually best not to piss the clients off before you sign an agreement with them. Plenty of time for that afterwards. “So, is there a problem I can help you with, Red?”
Mentally I cursed my quick tongue. Must not give the clients nicknames when annoyed, I reminded myself, but he seemed amused, if anything.
“Che, like you're one to talk,” he responded, looking at my spiky hair with a lopsided smile that made my stomach flip over. The smile disappeared quickly as he looked directly at me, though, seeming to give me a close inspection for the first time. “Aren't you a little young for this kind of work?”
Now it was my turn to feel amused, and to feel a little relief as we stumbled onto territory I was familiar with. “Well, I'm not as young as I look, and I've been in this business over five years now. I know there are lots of other investigators in the area, some with way more experience than me and even a few that I could recommend to you. But, I'm the only one I know of who specializes in what I do. I could give you the names of some former clients willing to vouch for me, but I figure that's probably the reason you're here anyway, that you talked to someone I've helped in the past.”
The redhead nodded once. “Yeah, I heard about you from a couple of people. They said you're actually willing to take on some of these big companies,” he finished, looking at me a little skeptically.
“Yeah, that's what I do,” I said. For all the good it does most of the time the cynical voice in the back of my head chimed in, but I shut it up quickly. “Was it something along those lines you needed help with?”
He gave a long sigh then, raked a hand back through his hair, and re-settled his sunglasses over his forehead. I tried to pay polite attention instead of becoming fixated on watching that large hand as it made its way back to his thigh. He wasn't focused on me just then, though, and I finally saw the concern that I hadn't realized was in the background of his expression make its way to the front. Once he was looking back up at me, he started talking.
“Fuck. I might as well tell you about it because it doesn't seem like there's anyone else I can tell. Either they don't want to hear about it or they definitely want me to shut the fuck up about it.”
I slid the drawer at my right open and grabbed a pencil and pad of paper. “OK, why don't you start at the beginning? What happened?”
“Well,” the redhead started, “my sister, Rukia, has disappeared.” He shook his head then, as if something wasn't quite right and then continued. “Actually, she's not legally my sister or anything, which may be why I'm having so many problems with this. We lived in the same foster home for a few years when we were kids and never lost touch afterwards, so when we were old enough we got a place together and we've lived together ever since. We'd always, you know, keep an eye out for each other and stuff.”
He stopped then and stared down at his hands for a few seconds, obviously remembering something. I waited for a bit, then to get him going again quietly said, “I've been over here making some notes for a little while now and I realize I've forgotten to ask your name.”
I continued to watch him, hoping my question would break him out of his thoughts, and was happy when it seemed to have worked. He straightened up and took a breath, then looked me in the eye. “Renji Abarai,” he said, and then grinned. “Are you sure you're a private eye? How could you forget something like that?”
Rolling my eyes, I couldn't help grinning back. “Yeah, yeah,” I replied, willing to take a little ribbing if I could get him to keep talking. “So, how long has Rukia been gone? Did you call the police into it?”
He began to look angry then. “She's been gone about a week, and the fucking police have been no good at all. I called them the day she didn't come home from work and they told me she needed to be gone for 24 hours before they could do anything. Then, when I go back to them 24 hours later they fuck around for a couple days and then come back and tell me she's not missing.”
I gave him an odd look. “They said she wasn't missing?” I'd seen lots of mishandled missing person cases, but this was the first time I'd heard the police claim that someone who'd disappeared wasn't missing at all.
“Yeah, and when I started to get upset about it, telling them that she hadn't been home and she didn't take anything other than her purse and her lunch with her when she went to work that day, they kept insisting that she wasn't missing and that if I didn't stop making a scene they'd lock me up.” Renji had a bitter, angry expression on his face at that point, and I couldn't say I blamed him.
“I've never heard of a missing person case handled like that, Mr. Abarai. I'm sorry to hear that happened,” I responded.
He fixed me with a suspicious look for a moment, then, as if satisfied with what he'd seen in my eyes, he barked out a harsh laugh. “Just call me Renji. And, fuck, I'm glad to hear that I'm not the only one who thought the whole thing was weird. I did manage to overhear something as I was leaving, though. It was only part of what one of the cops was saying to another, but I thought I heard him say he'd talked to her at work.”
I raised an eyebrow as I looked up at him. “Where does she work?” I asked.
“She’s been working in downtown Karakura at Kuchiki Industries headquarters as the receptionist,” Renji answered, then looked intensely at me again as he continued. “So I went to see if she was actually there. I met her a couple of times there to go out to lunch, so I’d seen where she worked.”
“Do you work in the area?” I asked as he paused.
He shook his head in response. “Nah. Shuu, a good friend of mine, and I run a tattoo place here in Rukongai. The work is mostly afternoons and evenings, though, so I went out to see Rukia a couple of times when I was working evenings.
“Anyway,” Renji continued, “she’d been working at the main desk behind the front doors as you come into the building, so it was visible from the street. Well, Rukia wasn't there when I got there - it was some older lady. I figured I'd wait to see if she was on break or something, but I'd only been sitting on a bench across the street for a few minutes when these rent-a-cops came out of the building and straight over to me. It was fucking weird. It was like they'd been waiting for me or something. So they got all serious and told me to basically get the fuck out of there. When I reminded them that I was on a public street minding my own business, they threatened to call the police and get me arrested for loitering. I argued with them for a while, but finally ended up leaving. Rukia never showed up the whole time I was there, either. That was yesterday,” Renji concluded with a sigh as he looked down at his hands again.
I made a few more notes before I met his eyes again. Mentally I sighed as I watched my pencil write Kuchiki Industries. They were a huge multi-national corporation that did business in many different sectors - manufacturing, pharmaceuticals, high-tech, and a number of other major areas. They were also privately owned, which meant that there was even less scrutiny on them than there would be if they were a publicly-owned company. I had a failed case in relation to the company, as well.
I'd been hired to get evidence of what had happened to a woman who'd worked in one of the Kuchiki pharmaceutical research and development labs. She'd been poisoned one day at work and had come home and related the story to her husband before she'd collapsed. From what he'd told me, it had sounded like a clear case of not following the correct lab safety procedures, but I hadn't been able to get any corroborating evidence. It had taken me days to even locate the lab. Then, I'd been thrown off the grounds by the security guards, who’d seemed to recognize me. When I'd finally been able to tail a couple of the people who'd worked there and had managed to talk to them, they'd seemed terrified once they had realized what I'd wanted and none of them would tell me anything. I'd had to give the case up because I hadn't been able to get anywhere with it. The woman had died in a coma a month later.
“OK,” I said, trying to look more confident than I now felt about the case, “just a couple more things. Do you have photos of her? I'll need any contact information you have, too.”
He nodded and stood to take a folded envelope from his back pocket. When I opened it, I saw a picture of Renji with a short, petite woman. They were sitting somewhere along the water, and she was holding her fingers behind his head to make bunny ears, smiling as if she'd been laughing a moment earlier. She had short dark hair in a cut that curled along her neckline and big eyes that looked almost purple. The second picture was just of her, and her expression was somehow sad. I had the odd sensation that I'd seen her somewhere before as I looked at the photos, even though I knew that was unlikely.
“Are these recent?” I asked as I looked back up at the redhead.
“Within the past year or so, I think. The police kept the best pictures I had of her,” he replied with a scowl.
I nodded as I opened the piece of paper that had also been in the envelope. There were home and work addresses on it, as well as a phone number and e-mail address for Rukia and a phone number for Renji.
“Could I get the address of your business, as well?” I asked as I handed the piece of paper back to the redhead. “I need to know how to get in touch with you at all times.”
He scrawled it down, then mentioned as he handed the page back, “That's my cell number, so you should be able to reach me there any time.”
Score. I studied the paper for a moment before asking, “So, you tried calling her, I'm guessing?”
“Yeah. The first couple of days it just went to her voice mail, but now it says the number's disconnected, which is weird because she's always fanatical about paying her bills on time,” Renji replied, shaking his head.
“One more question,” I said before I really thought about it. “Were you two lovers?”
Renji was looking me straight in the eye again, more in shock than anything else. I was cursing my habit of just asking all the questions that occurred to me without mentally filtering them when he raised an eyebrow and snorted a laugh.
“You just go right for it, don't you?” he said, but I could see by the way he was smirking that it didn't seem to bother him. “No, we weren't. Doesn't mean I didn't think about it when we were younger, but...well, I think she was always sort of hoping to snag a rich guy, you know? I don't blame her for it or anything; I mean, you grow up poor and a lot of times you have big dreams for more once you're older. So, the answer is no.”
I took another note down, hoping I wasn't blushing like a kid. I thought I'd lost that habit years ago.
Since he seemed interested, I quickly made up one of my client agreements and printed it out for him. Renji scanned through it, but I could tell when his gaze reached the section that detailed my rates.
“Holy crap,” he said as he fixed me with a surprised look. “For an hourly rate like that, do I get head, too?”
I'm sure my eyebrows almost lifted off my forehead at that comment. “Maybe if you ask nicely,” I responded, unable to help grinning. Maybe he's not as straight as I thought. “I know it's more than a lot of people with my experience would charge, but I charge a bit more because I'm a specialist. You know, like seeing a foot doctor or something.”
He grunted as he finished reading the agreement and then signed it. “I'm not made of money, you know,” Renji replied, still hanging onto the piece of paper.
I sighed. “All right, how about this? I'll meet with you every couple of days to let you know how it's going. I'll let you know what progress I've made and how much it's costing you, and if you think I'm not doing enough you're free to pull the plug at any time. If we ever have any really serious disagreements, like you think I'm just sitting here jerking off when I should be out finding Rukia, we'll talk about it. If we can't resolve it, I'll leave the case alone and refund your retainer.”
I just about bit my tongue as I said the last sentence, because according to the agreement the retainer is mine unless the case takes less than four days to solve (in which case the client gets a partial refund), but I let it stand. Somehow, I just couldn't let him go without trying to land him as a client any way I could. That's because you'd really like him to bend you over the desk-
Mentally throwing the largest rock I could find on my errant thoughts, I focused on the redhead instead. A moment later, I was putting my hand out in surprise as he shoved the signed agreement into it, followed up with the wad of cash that represented my retainer. I quickly stuck it all into my desk drawer, and then shook the hand he was holding out.
“OK, sounds good,” he said with another heart-stopping smile. “You don't need to update the agreement, either. You look like you're as good as your word. Did you want to come by at some point to look at anything of Rukia's? She doesn't have a lot of stuff, but I figured you might want to look around her room to see if there's anything that might help you figure out where she is. Her little computer is there, too.”
“How about if I stop by tomorrow morning? We can talk about anything I've found out and I could look through her things.”
“Cool,” Renji said, and it was only then that he released my hand. I could still feel the tingle in my fingers as he turned to go out the door. “Just don't come by before 11, OK?”
“OK. See you after 11 tomorrow, then,” I responded. Like a complete dork I sat back in my chair a few minutes later to watch as the tall redhead walked away down the street. It made me want to take the binoculars out of the bottom drawer, but somehow I resisted the urge and just watched him until he disappeared.
I looked away and weighed my options for a moment. There was sifting through all I had on Kuchiki Industries, which was the reasonable thing to do, but then there was the more pressing issue; jerking off. Both would have gone embarrassingly fast; the CEO of the corporation ran a squeaky-clean business, and as for the other option, well, who could blame me for getting half-hard just from hearing Renji Abarai speak.
Both plans had flaws, though. I couldn't really investigate with my mind elsewhere, and I'd just told Renji I wouldn't be sitting here jerking off instead of working.
I went for the third option, and pulled out another cigarette. I couldn't help but grunt in satisfaction when I breathed in. Didn't make my dick any softer, but it took enough of the edge off so that I could focus on the case. I kept the cigarette in place with my lips and stood up, reaching for the farthest cabinet.
I nearly sighed in frustration again as I looked at the Kuchiki Industries file. Hints of mysterious deaths, some "alleged" disappearances, rotten business. There was always stuff swept under the carpet in corporations that big, and after five years in this business I usually find the dirt, even if I have to get dirty myself.
This one, though, shit just didn't stick to. That failed case… it wasn't the first, and it probably won't be the last, but that didn't make me feel any less bad. And it's stupid, taking it personally, but if I didn't make taking these assholes down my personal mission, I'd be a lot less successful. With Renji's naked body at stake, I knew I couldn't let this one slip by.
Plan, I thought, determined. I knew I'd probably get the same treatment as Renji if I didn't go about it as smoothly as possible. With such an enterprise, the first thing you've gotta do is learn all you can about the surface-how many buildings, how many employees, how many open eyes, and of course, the people behind the wheel. Byakuya Kuchiki. That asshole was so fast to brush off any mishap that it was like they didn't even exist.
I already had that part down pat after the previous investigation, as well as the inner workings of the corporation. Unfortunately, for Kuchiki Industries, the emphasis had been on "learn all you can"; I tried tailing, bribing, even chatting up male and female employees alike, but mostly I got radio silence. I knew I needed a breach. There had to be a weak spot, right?
I paused when I reached the picture of the headquarters I was interested in. Of course.
I grabbed the cigarette with my fingers and shut my eyes, remembering what Renji had told me. Miss Rukia wasn't at the main desk the day before. In fact, she was replaced by someone new, someone who might have known something, someone who might not have known me. That kind of personnel switch was bound to get noticed by someone.
As it appeared Renji was getting most of the attention of whoever was responsible for the disappearance, I figured it'd be as safe as it could be for me to go in. It was the only lead I had at the time, anyway. I put out my cigarette and grabbed my coat and cell phone. I stuffed the files and the pad of paper in my favorite bag, and headed out.
Staking out Kuchiki Industries was depressingly familiar, so I decided to take a little detour with my car and finally attend to the pressing matter from before. I grabbed another cigarette, cracked open the car window, and finally unzipped my fly.
Oh, don't give me that look; you would have done the same if you'd seen the man lying in my bed right now. Shit, I feel that heat again even now, just standing here and looking at him. He did end up bending me over the desk, didn't he? Then against the fucking window… But that happened much later in the story.
So after I took care of things in my car, I finally drove over to downtown Karakura. I swear you can feel the difference in the air there, like there's class you forgot about while driving past factories and a general mess on the way up there.
I found a convenient spot across the street from the building. Far enough to not get noticed by security guards, not too far so I could still see my target. And there she was, the "older lady," standing at the main desk behind the big glass doors. The place spelled luxury, and that woman fit right in-cute, big blue eyes, blond hair, an impressive cleavage. While I obviously don't go for that, I knew she turned heads. The chances of her knowing someone who knew something grew at once.
I pulled out my pen and paper and scribbled down notes about her appearance, so I'd gather all the information I could before I would start to actually tail her. It was nice and early, so I knew I'd get something done on that day as long as I kept my cool. The "surveillance" began. The sitting and waiting is the worst part, really. She was doing this and that, and I had enough field experience to know what would probably be useless information, yet still I wrote it all down.
I perked in my seat when I saw her say something to the man working beside her and then take her purse. She's leaving, I thought, and paid extra attention. If she was on a break, and went to the same place during each break, I'd surely catch her on one of those times. I started the car and followed her a bit as she walked down the street until she turned and entered a tacky little coffeehouse. I grabbed my binoculars and looked inside. She bought her coffee and sat alone. I watched and waited, timing her stay there.
And oh, was I lucky with that woman. I'd tailed her from the building to the coffeehouse and back again three times in as many hours. She took more breaks than any employee I'd ever needed, and always at the same place. I knew I might get her talking even before meeting Renji tomorrow.
The sun was beginning to set. Since I'd only been watching her for a few hours I didn't know when she got off work, so I decided to risk it and get a head-start on her next break. I parked my car and opened the glove box, fishing through it for my Kuchiki Industries ID card.
I'd already invented my cover from what I knew of the personnel there; I was a young junior employee working in the human resource department. It was pretty solid, and I'd learned how to act the part. The tricky part was my target. For all I knew she could have been the head of the personnel department before becoming the receptionist just a few days ago. If she saw through my bluff there could be hell to pay.
But you know what, I'm not the most cautious PI out there, and in disappearance cases if you don't finish quickly you don't finish at all. So you go with your gut, and that's what I did. I made sure my ID card was visible and put my hat on; otherwise she'd know she hadn't seen me come in or out the building all day. I stepped out of my car and walked to the coffeehouse quickly, but didn't enter it.
I waited around the entrance and then hid behind a group of people when, sure enough, she walked down the street and into the coffeehouse. I only came in once I saw her sit down. I didn't look at her, but walked straight to the bar and ordered a large espresso. I made a show of looking around nervously so she'd know I could use some company, and strained not to smirk when I noticed she already had her eyes on me.
I took my paper cup and turned around, like I was looking for an empty table. Just as I'd confirmed in advance, there were none. I glanced around one more time and then let my eyes settle on her. There was a smile on her ruby red lips, and I figured it was all the invitation I could hope for.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" I asked when I walked over to her.
"Not at all," she said and pushed back the chair next to her with her leg. Step one, complete.
"Thanks," I said and put on my best smile. I sat down and drank some of my coffee. "Muruyama Yoshimi. Nice to meet you."
"So I see," she said, glancing at my ID card. Her voice was causal, rich. She was still smiling at me, and it looked sincere. "I'm Rangiku Matsumoto." She pointed to her own ID card, pinned to her blouse.
"Like the flower," I mumbled, then met her eyes again. "Lovely." Muruyama Yoshimi was a nice guy, friendly and kind, not to mention interested in what other people had to say. It's still hard to pull him off, but I was used to it by that point.
"Thank you." She was batting her eyelashes at me, I swear to god. I thought I had that one in the bag. "You work at Kuchiki Industries, too?" she asked. "I haven't seen you around."
Well, shit. I nodded, messing with my coffee cup and praying she wouldn't know. "New errand boy. I answer calls for Mr. Hanatarou." Her expression didn't change, so I leaned forward, trying to mask my relief with a look of frustration. "To tell you the truth, I can't make heads or tails out of that place. Have you been working there for a long time?"
I looked up expectantly, like I was seeking some comfort, and she was so buying it. She looked sympathetically at me. "Long enough." She cracked a smile and leaned forward. I thought she expected me to glance at her breasts, so I did. That was a quick glance. "But I haven't always been a receptionist."
I raised an eyebrow. This should be good. "Really?"
"Yes, I got promoted only a few days ago." She shrugged, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. "It was kinda sudden."
"Got you a better job, didn't it?" I chuckled, casual. I wet my lips before asking, "Why was it sudden, though?"
She glanced around, and oh, wasn't I lucky to land on the office gossip. I don't believe in that destiny crap, but right then I was thanking the stars. She whispered in a sweet voice, "I had to replace the old receptionist."
Yes. I leaned in, humoring Matsumoto. "What happened to her?"
She grinned, and her voice had a definite cheery lilt when she spoke next. "She moved up the food chain. They said it was a long time coming, but to tell you the truth, she hasn't been working there for that long."
Suspicious promotion, disappearance, quick cover-up. I'd have to ask Renji about that. I made a few other mental notes, to remember everything my cooperative new friend was saying, until she asked me, "What are you thinking about?"
I blinked. Shit. The best way to get out of this one… "Oh, nothing," I smiled at her in a less-than-casual way, hoping that she was into me enough not to mind. "Just nice to know my job's not a dead-end. So what's she doing now?" I tried to sound interested and I knew I was risking it, but once you're on a lucky streak…
"I don't know," Matsumoto said. Damn. Either she'd seen my disappointment or she just wanted to say more, but she added, "They wouldn't say."
Hush-hush? I just got evidence of something fishy on a silver platter. From a receptionist, the one person who could get me inside. There's your breach, I thought, and could have kissed her.
Before I got the chance to do anything, she broke off the eye contact and lifted her coffee cup to her lips.
"Oh my, my break's been over for five minutes!" she suddenly cried, looking at her phone. She got to her feet. "I'd better run if I wanna get some coffee for my boss, too. You wouldn't want to upset Mr. Hitsugaya more than usual."
I gave her my best knowing laugh and got up as well, turning around to get my coat. I was startled to feel her hand on my shoulder a moment later. She was definitely standing closer then. "Give me a call if you want to talk some more, all right?"
And while her words made me one of the happiest men alive, the wink she gave me after speaking nearly had me running the other way. Nearly, because I'm such a professional. Instead, I smiled and nodded. "All right."
She left without asking me whether I was coming as well, so instead of thinking up an excuse I went straight to my car, and I swear, I could have jerked off again.
Yeah, so what if I like good news more than most people. Things don't go my way very often; it's nice when they do, and it's even nicer when I get to deliver them to hot guys like Renji. Made me feel all accomplished, not to mention fucking fortunate, like there was some gay god lighting my way or something.
That lucky streak seemed to continue until my meeting with Renji the day after.
I drove up and parked outside the building that Renji and Rukia's shared apartment was in. Checking my watch as I stepped out of the car, I had a feeling that I was a bit early, and I was, by thirty minutes. Hopefully Renji wouldn't mind. Hopefully he's just come out of the shower. Fuck, Ichigo, I mentally berated myself, you're here to do your job, and you have to look like a professional in front of this guy, otherwise he'll call it off.
I knocked on the green door and when he opened it, he wasn't newly showered. He was newly out of bed. And I could feel myself hardening at the sight of him. Low riding sweatpants, and that's it.
There were tattoos everywhere. The ones from his neck I had spotted before but now I could also see a tribal chain that went over his chest and covered his shoulders, and the ones that I had seen the ends of the other day took form and made their way down his upper arms.
But what made my lips part and my voice disappear were the tattoos that started under his chest, making their way from his abs and down his torso. Two thin lines disappearing under the waistline. And fuck, he had muscles, too.
“Detective?” he grunted in a raspy voice. And fuck, I had to collect myself all over again. Calm and easy, breathe in, breathe out.
“Yeah. I thought I would check on Rukia's stuff.” That's right, sound like a retard. Just go ahead, do it. “Sorry, I'm a bit early.” I cracked a smile and could feel my ability to think come back to me. He'd just taken me by surprise, that's all.
“It's all cool. Come in, I'll just go and dress-”
“No!”
He turned to look at me with raised eyebrows and I had no fucking idea of what I had just said. “Sorry, I mean, could you just point me in the direction of Rukia's room?”
“Yeah, sure, it's that purple door over there.” He pointed towards something behind me, and I turned to see a purple door with a few bunny stickers on it. How old did he say that Rukia was? “I'll be back in a minute.”
“Yeah, sure.” I had the decency not to scream again. I opened the door and stepped into the half dark room, searching for the light switch.
The room lit up with a pinkish light. Okay, she has a thing for bunnies, that's for sure I thought as I looked around. You really wouldn't think that there was a woman the age of twenty living there; it looked like a fourteen-year-old girl's room. The walls were white and there were purple curtains and a matching cover over the single bed. A single shelf hung on one wall; on it was a collection of stuffed bunnies and some books.
I walked forward to the white desk that was placed in front of the window and pressed the on button on her laptop. I opened the desk drawers as I waited for it to start up.
Some pens, a pile of paper... I sat down on the chair as I searched through the pile, finding some with Kuchiki Industries logos but nothing significant on them until - jackpot - a schedule, still valid from the looks of it. I couldn't help but grin at my success; with this it shouldn't be so hard to sneak around.
“Found something?” I heard from behind me, and I spun the chair around to face Renji, now dressed in skinny jeans and a loose t-shirt.
“A still-active schedule,” I said dumbly and held up the paper as if to prove that I was right.
“Ah.” He nodded and came into the room, and I spun back to face the computer. “The password's Chappy, with a capital C,” he said and I quickly typed it in. The screen turned pink and a picture of cartoon animals having a picnic turned up. I quickly opened the internet to see if there was anything interesting in her history.
“I talked to the new receptionist yesterday, and she said that Rukia had been promoted, but she didn't know to which position. Has she-” There was not much more than YouTube clips in the recent history, so I opened her e-mail instead, hoping that she had auto log in. And, yes, my luck isn't over yet.
“No, she doesn't talk about her job much, not in that way anyhow. All I get to hear about is who hooked up with who, the drunkards, and the man who wears the leo costume.”
“I'm planning to sneak in and act as the new errand boy working under Hanatarou. Would you know any facts that might make it easier for me, you know, to make it more believable?” It seemed that she was a kind of tidy person, from the looks of her e-mail box. There was nothing in it that was over a month old. And most of the emails seemed to be from people inside the industry that I knew nothing about, asking for copies of documents and the like.
Renji leaned over my shoulder and pointed at a name on the screen, 'Momo' Hinamori. “I know that Momo is one of her closest friends over there. She's working as an assistant for Hitsugaya; sometimes she asks Rukia for help and they eat lunch together. Oh, Hitsugaya is some big shot there. I think he's Kuchiki's right hand or something.”
“Yeah, I know who he is. I have most of the big shots down.”
_________________________________________________________________________
It really was my lucky day, I thought as Renji poured some black coffee into a chipped, worn-down ceramic cup. It was obvious that Rukia had been absent from home for some time already; there was a tower of dirty dishes piled up in the sink, and I swear that huge hill of trash by the door was more than impressive in a completely wrong way. I could offer him some help. Show him how good I am with my hands. And not just at using them to take care of trash. God knows it was hard to keep that pain-in-the-ass inner voice down as my eyes wandered around the kitchen.
"It's messy, I know," Renji said in a low voice, and the mildly rough edge it was etched with nearly made me shudder. "I haven't been myself these days; it's hard to keep my mind straight when all I do is worry about her." Really, he looked pretty down. OK, maybe this wasn't a realization of the idea of what a perfectly lucky day with Renji would really look like, but this was what I had to work with. A strange sentiment came over me; besides the unavoidable mental picture of Renji bending me over my massive office desk, there was the thought of comforting him, probably initiated by the gloomy look on his face. Shit, when did I get so cuddly? Though the very thought of the usual area of comfort I specialize in was enough to get my cock stirring. Mind you, I don't get off on seeing someone in pain, but I can't say it's not a good opportunity to get into someone's deliciously tight pants. Repeatedly. I think I need a cigarette.
He put the chipped cup in front of me and I tried to focus on his hands, for once. "It's hard to lose a person you care for, I'm aware of that. You're not the first nor to last to come through my door in an act of desperation." Yeah that’s right Ichigo, make him feel like shit.
“You really know how to hit the mark, don't you?” He took a small sip of coffee, sighed and remained silent for a moment. I supposed there was nothing I could’ve said to make things better, so I said nothing. Comforting people has never been a part of my expertise, as you already know. “But you’re right. I’m desperate and you’re the only one who’ll help me.” He pointed his finger at me and I shifted in my chair uncomfortably. I can’t say that I’m completely objective in handling this case. The thought of my ulterior motive nearly made me smirk (as if this wasn’t the worst moment to smirk...), so I grabbed the cup and took a whiff of coffee to distract myself. It smelled delicious. I slowly brought the cup to my mouth, as if I wanted to devour the moment (in fact, there was something else I wanted to devour), and took a long sip. No sugar, just a bit of milk. Just like I like it. The coffee was so hot it nearly burned my throat, but the sensation of warmth spreading through my limbs was too good to pull the cup away from my mouth. When I finally did and looked up, I noticed Renji was staring right at me. Looks like I distracted him.
“You spilled some,” he said, breaking the silence. Oh, right. That explains the warmth. Good thing the shirt was loose. I don’t need more scars.
“Could you get me a towel, so I can at least dry my t-shirt? There are worse things in the world than wearing a stained shirt, but I’m not fond of wearing damp clothes.”
“Yeah... They cling to your skin too much,” he said, somewhat absent-mindedly. “Wait a second; I’ll get you a towel and a spare shirt. Just remember to return it next time we meet.” It seemed that I had no decision in this matter, so I decided to wait for him to bring the shirt from what was probably his room. It was easy to make a mind-map of this place.
It didn’t take him long. He put both items on the table in front of me. I was still holding the damned cup. “Here you go,” he said. “Most of my clothes should be baggy on you, so I grabbed the tightest one. I hope it’ll fit.”
I put the cup down and grabbed the towel. To hell with decency. I took my stained shirt off in front of an obviously puzzled Renji and wiped the moisture off my stomach. The white shirt he gave me fit almost perfectly and I couldn’t help imagining what it would look like stretched over his muscles. Another cigarette, please.
“You could’ve used the bathroom to change your clothes.”
Or your room. “I’m in a hurry, since I have no time to lose in getting back to your case. We’re both guys, so I figured it wasn’t that much out of your comfort zone. Thanks for the coffee. I gotta go now, but I’ll keep you notified on the progress of the case,“ I said, grabbing my bag and stuffing it with papers and my notebook.
“Oh... OK. I hope I’ll hear from you soon,” Renji said, opening the front door.
Don’t get so pumped, idiot. He wants information, not you. “Don’t worry about that; I’ll keep you posted. Goodbye!”
I nearly ran out of his flat, not looking back and practically jumped into my car. I drove two blocks away, and finally lit that much needed cigarette. The smoke was burning my throat in an exquisitely pleasurable way and I let out a satisfied sigh after the final drag. I need to let off some steam.
Not to mention, this was going to be a hard case. In more ways than one.
Turning my car on, I drove off to my office. I had to get all the information I had sorted out. I’d better buy a pack of smokes. Or two. This is going to be a long night.
_______________________________________________________________________
On to Part 2!